Data's Christmas gift
by MissDillyDilly
Summary: Data remembers a Christmas back at the Academy. Cats, tears, friendship and schmaltz for Christmas: enjoy!


**Data's Christmas ****gift**

**Summary**: Data remembers a Christmas back at the Academy. Cats, tears, friendship and schmaltz: enjoy!

**Disclaimers**: I have made no money from writing this story. I do not own anything connected with any of the Star Trek franchises, which all seem to belong to a complex combination of CBS, Viacom and Paramount. Neither do I own either Commander Data or Brent Spiner – if I did, you think I'd be wasting my time typing???

* * *

"Christmas," Lieutenant Commander Data said, seating himself next to Captain Jean-Luc Picard in the latter's ready room. "An Earth festival held to celebrate the birth of a deity in human form. By the twenty first century it had become largely a secular exchange of gifts, and the associated religion now has very few genuine followers, who seem to spend their lives either attempting to convert others, sometimes violently, or practicing what scholars consider to be a central tenet of the faith, that of loving their fellow beings at all times." He paused. "Although the second approach seems more laudable, neither appears particularly practical."

"I agree, Mr Data," Picard replied, "but your excellent analysis doesn't help me decide what to do about this invitation. Ensigns Waters and May are two of – " he consulted his padd " – seven people on board who adhere to these beliefs, and they have asked me to attend a concert this evening by way of celebration."

"Are you intending to go?"

Picard sighed. "I'm sure it would be an interesting opportunity to get to know some unfamiliar crew members, but if I go, how can I refuse to attend other events? We have such a diversity of cultures, races, and species, on board – I'd never find time to do anything else! And I can't go to one and refuse another; we'd end up with hurt feelings and accusations of prejudice."

"Then you should not attend. May I suggest, sir, that I go in your place? I should find it a fascinating study, and the presence of a senior officer should assuage any feelings of neglect. I once had some – dealings with those who celebrated the festival with gusto at the Academy."

"Really?"

"Yes," Data replied, with a surprising amount of feeling. "It was a mixed experience."

"Ah. Tell me about it." Picard prepared to listen.

* * *

"Cadet Android Data," intoned the voice of an ageing admiral. "One hundred percent in all subjects studied. Congratulations, Cadet: I imagine that you are proving both an inspiration and a challenge to your classmates. Cadet Janet Marshall…"

Data, sitting with those classmates in the grand hall at Starfleet Academy, reduced his auditory processing of the awards ceremony by 85%: he found such rites of passage unbeneficial, and the persistent use of his technological status as a first name was both inaccurate and unimaginative. Analysing the body language and muttered responses of those around him, he deduced that they viewed him as neither an inspiration nor a challenge: if his assessment was correct – and it invariably was – they saw him as a nuisance, an irritant, an annoyance, an aggravation… He could not allow it to concern him: there was nothing he could do. He was artificial and they were not, and that gave him such an advantage in virtually every aspect of life that no-one else had come top of his class in the three semesters since he had been here. It was a simple fact that he excelled: it was through neither fault nor talent, and he did not understand why he should be the object of such hostility because of it.

He listened to the whispers of those around him. _I was top in my school class… Must be something he'd fail at… Teach him a lesson… Never get away with it… Great idea… Talk about this later…_ He deduced that something was being plotted, and allowed himself to sigh which, as he understood it, was a human expression of exasperation and frustration. It did nothing to alleviate the situation however, so he stopped.

From his first day at the Academy, he had been subject to what he quickly came to recognise as practical jokes. His inability to empathise with his peers, and his almost total lack of worldly experience, had rendered him particularly vulnerable to cruelty of the acutest kind. Friendship had been offered, accepted, and then removed in the most embarrassing circumstances; arrangements for trips and excursions had been made and then withdrawn, leaving him stranded in inhospitable regions of jungle, desert or – once – a glacier; and classes had been mysteriously rescheduled or projects deleted from the computer, with the result that he had to spend many extra hours in work and study.

A human would have been deeply demoralised by the extent of such bullying. But Data was unaware that he had the capacity, much less the desire, to care: he merely appeared to accept his circumstances as a necessary experience prior to attaining his goal – that of becoming a Starfleet officer – and continued each day as if nothing had happened. In doing so, of course, he continuously infuriated his tormentors.

If they could have seen into his heart, or the collection of circuits and positronic pathways that served him as a heart, they might have found a different story. Data was deeply puzzled at the attitudes he engendered and, as he would later realise, deeply hurt. It took him many years to appreciate just how scarred he had been by these experiences, and he only truly overcame them with the understanding that came with the emotion chip. But, at the time, he was incapable of processing anything other than a recognition that the actions of those around him indicated that he was disliked.

Then, one day in the middle of his second winter, he was told that his classmates had gifts for him: it was the anniversary of an old Terran festival, and everyone was to exchange presents. He investigated this custom and its origins, and found that the resulting religion had caused both millions of deaths and some of the most heroic deeds in human history. Intrigued and appalled, and perhaps a little hopeful that his participation would lead to a greater sense of acceptance by his peers, he carefully selected a gift for each of them based on his observation of their character and interests. Some he acquired from external sources; others he made himself. Some were personal, while others were of a more public nature. But all were the result of careful thought and consideration.

When the appointed date for the exchange of presents arrived, he piled his offerings high and, despite a certain unease in his neural connections, made his way to the mess hall. All his acquaintance was there: he was, it seemed, the last to arrive. He looked around for other gifts, but there were none. Perhaps, he thought, he was not too late, but too early.

But he was here now, and accordingly laid his presents on one of the large tables and, stepping back, allowed people to rummage until each had found his or her gift. He noted, as they were opened, appreciative expressions and murmurs. Strangely, the noise level had steadily fallen since he had entered: quite a hubbub when he had come in, people were almost silent now. The atmosphere was heavy with embarrassment.

He stood, alone at the front of the hall, looking at the recipients of his generosity, and as it gradually occurred to him that he had, yet again, been the victim of a practical joke, he experienced a brief fall in his synaptic functions. Slowly the crowded room began to empty, and before long he found himself alone with only the shredded remnants of wrapping and his stillborn hope of acceptance for company. He sat down at one of the tables: it seemed as good a place to remain as any.

After a while, he rose and gathered up the brightly coloured paper he had so carefully applied to the many presents he had chosen. Having disposed of it, he returned to his quarters which, as he had expected, were empty. There were, evidently, no gifts for him. He expected nothing else: but observation had led him to an appreciation of the value of friendship, and he would, at that moment, have welcomed even a knock at the door. He studied for several hours, chose not to join his peers at dinner – he did not after all require such sustenance – and retired. He had always maintained the formality of sleeping, even though he had no need of it and was the sole occupant of his quarters: no-one had ever wished to share with him, and Starfleet had been strangely reluctant to force the issue.

Alone, he lay in the cold bed and fixed his mind on the dream of serving aboard a starship as a respected officer, accepted as an individual and, perhaps, valued as a friend. He had to believe it would happen. He had to hold on to that goal, or none of this would have any worth at all. He could not give up: he did not know how.

But, if he was honest with himself, he _was_ beginning to know how it felt to be tired.

Some hours later, he heard a tap on the door. Preparing for another onslaught, he cautiously opened it, to see nothing but a small cardboard box with several holes cut roughly in its sides. Sighing, he picked it up: it was bound to contain some noxious substance, or an explosive, or perhaps – as once – nothing at all. He wondered when people would tire of such pranks: perhaps, he reflected, when examinations came along.

Then, in his hands, the box moved: this was obviously a different kind of joke. He placed it on the table and observed it gravely: before long, it moved again. He was tempted to throw it straight into the recycler, but his very human trait of curiosity was active even then, and he found himself opening it and peering inside. What he saw astonished him: a very small, very scared, very ginger kitten.

He had heard of such animals, and had studied them as part of his programme of self-improvement, but he had never seen one in the flesh. Aware from its size that the creature must be young and fragile, he lifted it from its prison with exaggerated care and cradled it against him: it weighed almost nothing, although its voice was well developed, as were its tiny, needle-like claws. Data moved his hands to accommodate its crawling and exploring, and was utterly fascinated. A perfectly-formed infant life lay in his power and, as he gazed at it, he felt an extension to his neural net finger out into the rich unknown world of emotion, compassion and love: an as-yet-unrecognised landscape which he would one day make his own.

Data was not so naïve as to accept this 'gift' at face value: he knew that pets were forbidden to cadets, and assumed that this was a vain attempt to engage him in affection for something that would soon be removed. But, for tonight, this little scrap of life – which now lay curled up in the crook of his arm purring with all its kittenish might – belonged to him, and he was going to accept its company and friendship gratefully.

He looked critically at the vibrating ginger bundle. "I will call you Spot," he said solemnly. "I have observed that this is a name often applied to canines, and there appears to be little essential difference between canines and felines. Welcome to my quarters, Spot: I am very – glad that you are here."

Of course, after a couple of days the authorities pointed out that Spot must go, and he found a home with the niece of old Boothby, one of the few people on campus who had ever taken the trouble of giving Data the time of day. Having been in his company for almost seventy two hours, Data was disconcerted to find that he missed the funny little creature, and decided that, if he should ever have the opportunity, he would acquire a cat. At the next class council, he gravely thanked his anonymous benefactor, and noticed more than one uncomfortable face amongst his audience.

Strangely, from that day, the practical jokes largely ceased. It was as though his generosity, his obvious aloneness, and his earnest and unexpected appreciation of the kitten, had combined to touch a chord that none of his previous stoicism had reached. He never found out who had left the animal for him, but he learnt to be grateful for their impulse, whatever it had been. Spot lived a long life, cosseted and ridiculously spoilt, and seldom failed to leap into Data's arms on the rare occasions when he was able to visit him.

It was a gift that Data always remembered.

* * *

"I knew that your time at the Academy was less than pleasant," Picard said. "I'm sorry."

"It helped to form my character," Data replied, "although I am grateful I did not have the emotion chip activated at that time. It would have made the experience far less amenable. However, the gift of little Spot introduced me to genuine affection for the first time – though I did not then recognise it as such – and was therefore a very worthwhile experience."

"Data," Picard said, suddenly feeling mischievous, "if you could choose a gift now, what would it be?" Moments after speaking he realised that the android would inevitably choose to become human, and wished he hadn't asked.

But Data surprised him. He frowned a little, setting his head on one side as he thought, and Picard knew he was treating the flippant question seriously. "I do not see the value," he said, "of waiting until a particular date to offer gifts, since they may well be more usefully received at other times. But, if you really require me to answer, Captain, I would have to say that the gift that I would choose, I already have."

Picard smiled, intrigued. "And that is…?"

"My position aboard this ship, sir. The fact that I am accepted by officers and crew alike as one of them. Most importantly, the privilege of your friendship, which I have found to be the greatest gift of all."

Picard opened his mouth to speak, but found that his voice would not work: he felt his eyes grow wet, and blinked to hold back the tears. That Data should rate his friendship so highly moved him beyond words: he had always known that their relationship was closer, more intense, than most on the _Enterprise_, but the simple statement humbled him as no high-flown rhetoric could have done. He wondered what he would do if he ever lost Data, and felt grateful that, virtually immortal as the android was, such a scenario was almost impossible.

He swallowed, trying to find his voice; he could see Data's anxious face, and knew he must respond. Shaking his head slightly, he reached out a hand and placed it on the other's shoulder. "Mr Data," he began, "I don't think anyone has ever said anything to me that I value more. I am, and always have been, honoured to be your friend."

"Thank you, sir," Data replied, and an observer might have noted that even his voice sounded a little husky.

Picard stood up and crossed to the window. Still blinking, he breathed slowly, trying to control his emotions. Rarely a man to show his feelings, he nevertheless felt deeply, and wondered if perhaps he might allow himself to share some of those feelings now. But he could not articulate them appropriately: instead, he began to speak in abstracts, hoping that Data would understand. "I believe the texts of this 'Christmas' belief stress the value of friendship," he said. "If I recall my Academy classes correctly, love is one of its central tenets, and friendship is a form of love."

"Indeed. I suppose that means that I must love you," said Data blandly. Picard's artificial heart skipped a beat. "But I suppose that I also love Spot, and that emotion is quite different."

"I would hope so!"

"I would miss Spot should anything happen to her," Data said earnestly. "But – " as if struck by the idea for the first time " – I would certainly miss you more. What I feel for you is not unrelated to my feeling towards Spot, but it is a great deal more complicated. As I said, your friendship is the greatest gift I have ever received: I would not willingly part with it and, if I did, I would have lost something irreplaceable."

The emotions that Picard thought he had under control welled up again. "Data…" He felt the serious golden eyes on him. "You too have been a great gift to me." He struggled to find words that reflected the impulses of his heart. "You have given me – you have given me yourself, your loyalty, your support, time – you have given me your trust. No man could ask for more. It is I who am privileged, Commander." He smiled at his third in command. "I cannot think of anyone I would rather have at my side."

"Thank you, sir," Data replied, a ridiculously smug expression on his normally immobile face. _How little it takes to make him happy_, Picard thought.

_How__ little it would take to destroy him. For all his strength and power, how fragile he is…_

As Data left the ready room, Picard watched him go with a mixture of love and despair: how do you protect something so precious? Data was valuable beyond imagining, and he must guard him with his life. As he knew, suddenly, that the android guarded him.

Data had given of himself, freely and without reservation, and in so doing had enabled his Captain to respond in kind. Picard could only hope that, as the years unfolded, he would prove worthy of such trust.

That gift of love, he knew, was the greatest gift of all.


End file.
